


sweet holy honey

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Collars, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Facials, Honeymoon, Leashes, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Masturbation, Rimming, Sappy, Vibrators, and feeding each other cake, but also horny, their kink is belonging to each other and being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: Shiro never thought one man could be this lucky in love.Slowly, he presses past the last few inches between them into Keith’s space, nosing up the line of his neck and the scar on his cheek with a quiet exhale until he can seal their mouths together in a delicate, pleased kiss. Keith sighs into it, body sinking towards Shiro’s, and the moment is so incandescently perfect that it’s like an out of body experience. The love boiling up inside Shiro rattles him to the very core, and he tries to show that to Keith.The beautiful thing about the kiss, he thinks as their lips finally part so they can share gentle, warm breaths in the space between their mouths, is that it doesn’t need to be deeper, or hotter, or anything. The passion, love, and desire are palpable in the air, but it doesn’t need anything. It frees Shiro. It consumes him.





	sweet holy honey

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this fic for about 11 months now and i'm very pleased to finally share it with you!! 
> 
> thank u [eternal-heatstroke](https://twitter.com/eternalheatstrk) for editing! title from "sweet holy honey" by xavier omar.
> 
> modern day au, but they look like their s7 selves! shiro's prosthetic is a more modern design, with sadly no glowing altean magic.

Waking up is soft, syrup molasses. Warmth is the only thing he registers for a long time, slipping in and out of consciousness until his body decides it doesn’t want to sleep anymore, and his eyes slide open.

Keith’s drowsy face greets him. They’re sharing the same pillow, Shiro realizes, and when he pats behind himself curiously after stretching, he finds that it’s his fault for invading Keith’s side of the bed during their afternoon nap. Legs tangled and fingers laced through each other, there’s not much closer they can get.

“Sleep well?” Keith asks. His voice is rough and scratchy, and it sends something sparking through Shiro’s gut. He loves the sound of Keith freshly woken.

“Yeah,” he breathes. His jaw cracks in a yawn. “Sorry. Didn’t realize how tired I was going to be.”

Keith shrugs one shoulder and squeezes Shiro’s hand. The band of his ring catches the afternoon sunlight and Shiro’s heart skips in response, face melting into a helpless smile as he remembers why they’re here.

Slowly, he presses past the last few inches between them into Keith’s space, nosing up the line of his neck and the scar on his cheek with a quiet exhale until he can seal their mouths together in a delicate, pleased kiss. Keith sighs into it, body sinking towards Shiro’s, and the moment is so incandescently perfect that it’s like an out of body experience. The love boiling up inside Shiro rattles him to the very core, and he tries to show that to Keith.

The beautiful thing about the kiss, he thinks as their lips finally part so they can share gentle, warm breaths in the space between their mouths, is that it doesn’t need to be deeper, or hotter, or anything. The passion, love, and desire are palpable in the air, but it doesn’t  _ need _ anything. It frees Shiro. It consumes him.

Keith slides his hand up to cup Shiro’s face in his palm, thumb gently smoothing over Shiro’s eyebrow. His eyes close under the feeling, threatening to put him straight back to sleep.

“None of that,” Keith says mildly. He taps his thumb until Shiro opens his eyes. The corners of Keith’s lips twitch as if he’s smothering a smile. “You’ve gotta decide what you want for dinner.”

Shiro sighs. “Do you want to go out?” he asks.

“Only if you want.”

Shiro lifts his hand from the bed between them and lays it over where Keith is touching his face, turning his head so he can press a solid kiss to the center of his palm. “It’s the first night of our honeymoon,” Shiro mumbles into his skin. “I feel like we’re supposed to go out.”

Keith sneaks in for another kiss, this one just slightly wetter than before. It’s shocking how much that makes him ache.

“Want me to convince you?” Keith says, barely above a whisper. Instinctively, Shiro licks his lips—he doesn’t have a clue what exactly Keith means by that, but he knows he wants whatever is putting that gleam in his eye.

“I want you to try,” he whispers back. His voice doesn’t betray the heat curling throughout his body, but Keith’s smirk tells him it doesn’t matter. Keith can read him like an open book, and he knows everything that makes Shiro tick. There are no secrets between them.

Oh so slowly, Keith comes in for another kiss, this one teasingly light, barely a touch to Shiro’s lower lip. Shiro leans in for a second kiss, a fuller one, but Keith stops him with a hand on his chest, pushing until Shiro rolls to lay flat on his back, staring up at Keith with growing arousal. “I think this is the opposite of convincing me to go out,” he says, eyes flickering down to Keith’s mouth repeatedly, drawn like a magnet.

Instead of answering, Keith swings a leg over Shiro’s waist and settles himself comfortably on top of Shiro, hands splayed across Shiro’s chest. “What if I had a proposition for you?”

Shiro rubs his hand up and down Keith’s thigh, squeezing and marveling at the strength lurking beneath his skin. “I’m interested.”

Keith leans forward. Shiro tilts his mouth up in anticipation, but Keith smirks at him, hovering just out of Shiro’s reach while one hang digs underneath the pillow they just abandoned. What he pulls out makes Shiro’s breath catch and his heart hammer double time with how much he  _ wants _ .

“You wear this for me,” Keith whispers. His eyes are dangerous and beautiful. “All through dinner. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Shiro tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, which is hard because this is easily the hottest thing that’s happened to him—well, not  _ ever _ necessarily, but he can’t think of a counterexample right now, and he doesn’t know what to say. Keith knows this is something he wants—they’ve talked about it, about Shiro wearing the mark of Keith’s ownership outside of their home—but Shiro has never had the guts to go through with it. He fantasizes about it, dreams about it, even pretends, sometimes, that he’s brave enough to make it happen, even though he never could imagine a situation before today where the time would be right.

Tonight though . . . tonight, they’re more than a thousand miles away from the city they call home. There’s no one here to recognize them, no one who’s going to take one look at Shiro and know anything about him, much less remember him tomorrow. He is anonymous, and—and he is Keith’s.

“Answer me, Takashi.”

Licking his lips to try to get them working again, Shiro says, “Yes. Yeah, I want that.” His voice is hoarse.

Keith smiles at him then, bright and happy like Shiro has just brought him flowers or something equally sappy—not  _ this _ . The disconnect drops Shiro even farther down into the well of love for Keith he has inside him.

Shiro tugs at the bottom hem of Keith’s t-shirt and says, “C’mere.”

This time, Keith gives him the kiss he wants, nipping at Shiro’s bottom lip and making him moan as he tilts Shiro’s head to right where he wants it, hands soft and firm. Keith licks into his mouth with slow, dirty twists that leave Shiro quivering, warmth searing through his body. His toes curl into the sheets and his legs drop open, coaxing Keith closer and closer. Is it really necessary for them to go to din—

Keith tears himself away. “Hey,” he says, panting slightly. “None of that.” Shiro tries not to pout. “You never told me what you want to eat.”

Shiro considers for a moment, tries to stop his brain from thinking  _ a bottle of chocolate syrup that we eat off each other _ , and decides that he’s on his honeymoon. There’s no better time to indulge.

“I want steak,” he says, and Keith’s eyes light up, ever the carnivore. “And appetizers. Calamari.”

“I’m so glad I married you,” Keith says affectionately. He smacks one last kiss on Shiro’s mouth before getting up. Shiro tries to burrow back down into the covers instead of following, but all that gets him is a slap on the ass, dulled through the fluffy comforter. “Get up. I’ll make a reservation somewhere while you get ready.”

“Only if you promise we can make out ‘til we have to leave,” Shiro bargains.

Keith eyes him. “Fine.”

Smug, Shiro finally ducks into the bathroom to jump in for a quick shower. Unlike Keith, he had opted to not shower immediately upon exiting the plane and getting to their hotel room, choosing to shed his prosthetic and pass into dreamless sleep instead, but now Shiro needs to get rid of the lingering feeling of  _ airplane. _ He showered earlier that morning, but traveling leaves a special feeling of grit on his skin that needs to go before dinner and the rest of their night starts.

Besides, Shiro needs a moment to center himself before Keith makes good on his promises.

He cleans himself thoroughly— _ very _ thoroughly, since he doesn’t know exactly what Keith has planned tonight, but he wants to be prepared for all eventualities. The hotel’s provided shampoo and conditioner are actually high quality, which makes sense considering how much money they decided to put into this two-week vacation.

Shiro emerges from the shower feeling fully human for the first time that day, and he slings a towel around his hips and walks back into the room without drying off. Generally, Shiro doesn’t feel the need to cover himself up when Keith is around—they’re too comfortable and familiar with each other for Shiro to even care—but Keith has a thing he refuses to admit to for Shiro wearing nothing but a towel. It always makes his gaze get hot as he licks his lips absent-mindedly, and today is no exception as Keith pretends to be focused on buttoning up his shirt in a mirror. Shiro tosses him a wink. His towel slips down until the only thing keeping it up is Shiro’s ass.

“Wait,” Keith says just as Shiro is reaching for an undershirt out of his suitcase. “C’mere.”

Keith beckons him over. Shiro stops just in front of him, hand still gripping the corner of his tiny hotel towel to stop it from falling off his body. Gently, Keith’s fingers tug that away and toss the towel onto the end of the bed. Shiro will have to get that before they leave.

Their eyes meet, and the bottom drops out of Shiro’s stomach at the hunger he finds written there. Keith’s big, dizzying eyes are endless.

“On your knees.”

And just like that, Shiro is gone. He sinks slowly to his knees, careful not to bruise them on the thin carpet. Keith’s hand slides into his hair and strokes the white bangs back from his forehead, fingernails scratching through the soft, damp sides of his hair.

“This is gonna be the first thing you put on and the last thing you take off tonight, okay?” Shiro nods, tries not to look too eager, but he knows he’s failing. “You’re so good for me, Takashi,” Keith murmurs. The pad of his thumb sweeps lightly down the bridge of Shiro’s nose, over the slight indent of his scar, to press into his bottom lip, like he’s testing the plushness. “Beautiful.” Keith’s tone is awed, as if he’s the one who should be worshipping on his knees. Shiro wants them both to shake apart in each other’s arms.

Movements slow, Keith picks up the collar next to him and unclips the buckle. Metal clinks as he holds it open, and Shiro finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the contrast of Keith’s skin against the black leather. 

The dark silver buckle, he realizes with a jolt, matches the titanium of their wedding rings.

“Tell me when you’re ready.” From Keith’s lips, even commands are dipped in honey, patient and sweet, and it makes Shiro want to be  _ so good _ .

“Please,” Shiro says. His gaze flicks up to Keith’s—it’s just supposed to be a glance, but the depth of feeling in Keith’s eyes catches him and holds him there. It’s like this is the first time Shiro has looked at Keith, like now he’s finally seeing Keith, straight into the depths of his soul. “ _ Please _ ,” he begs again, desperate for the touch of cool fingers and cooler leather around his neck, for Keith to claim him, to make Shiro belong to him. 

His eyelids slip shut against his will when Keith’s hands finally reach around him. He fastens the buckle against Shiro’s throat and then slides two fingers between the leather and Shiro’s skin to make sure that the collar is neither too snug nor too loose. 

“There we go,” Keith whispers, quiet like he doesn't even realize what he's saying. Shiro hums, low in his throat—he could speak, since there isn't a rule against it, but he likes waiting for Keith's cue like this. Shiro isn't in charge tonight, not anymore, and it makes his mind quiet, filtered through the soft haze of being loved and owned. He doesn't have anything to say that Keith doesn't already know.

Keith is so good to him.

A thumb brushes the line of his chin. Shiro’s eyes open; he hadn’t realized they were closed. “Should I get your arm?” Keith asks.

Shiro considers, but the seven hour plane ride has him stiff and sore. He shakes his head.

“Can I dress you?”

This time, Shiro nods, eager; he loves the domesticity of getting dressed together, loves the days when Keith lets Shiro hold up his coat for Keith to slip into on his way out the door. He loves fingers dancing down each other’s chests to do up buttons, Keith snagging Shiro’s jacket out of the closet in the morning so Shiro has to go wrestle him out of it before he can go to work properly dressed. Undressing is trust and vulnerability and heat; this, instead, is tempered steel built on years of closeness and strength. 

With gentle hands, Keith helps him dress, holding open the shirt for Shiro to slip his arm into and doing the buttons, not quite all the way up so the hollow of his throat is exposed just below the band of the collar. When Shiro glances at himself in the mirror, he finds that it puts the collar even more on display than before he had a shirt on. It's perfect.

“You look handsome in that,” Keith says, standing behind him with his hands on Shiro's waist. They look like a high school prom picture.

Keith guides him into his suit jacket and kneels to do up the laces on his dress shoes. Apparently, they're going somewhere nice tonight.

Assessing himself critically, Keith holds two different ties against his chest before making a final decision. “Can you hold this for me?” Keith asks, reject tie dangling between them. His deep red vest clings to his tiny waist. Shiro nods and takes it, watching Keith tangle his fingers in dark gray silk, habit more than anything keeping him on track to tie a perfect knot as he stares at Shiro behind him in the mirror. Keith settles the knot at the base of his throat and folds down the collar, turning to take the tie so he can throw it over the dresser. 

Keith draws him into a kiss, settling his hands on Shiro’s waist as his mouth passes fleetingly over Shiro’s. 

“You’re teasing,” Shiro mumbles.

With an amused hum, Keith allows the next kiss to have just the barest amount of extra pressure. He looks distinctly proud of himself as Shiro frowns. “We have to go soon,” he says.

“You promised me a make out session,” Shiro reminds him.

“I did,” Keith says, teasing. “But what if we’re late for dinner because you decide you don’t want to stop?”

“I can stop when we need to leave,” Shiro says. He mouths at the side of Keith’s neck, both for something to do and for something to convince Keith with. 

“I’m not—ah, not sure that you’ve proven that about yourself before,” Keith says. Shiro scrapes his teeth over Keith’s pulse point again to get another noise like that out of him, hungry for Keith to lose control.

“I promise to try,” Shiro says. That’s the line that gets the fist in his hair yanking him back from Keith’s skin so Keith can look him in the eye.

“How about I give you a reward if you stop when I say it’s time to leave,” Keith says.

Shiro nods, eager and willing to try his damn hardest, and it’s with that that Keith finally draws him back in underneath a hungry mouth, welcoming Shiro down the rabbit hole until he can’t make sense of what he’s supposed to be doing or what he just agreed to.

They do not actually manage to leave on time, and it is one hundred percent Shiro’s fault.

***

This sort of behavior in public is indecent. As soon as Shiro sits down in the booth on one side of their table, Keith immediately climbs in after him, crowding up against his side and giving the maître d’ a smug grin. One of his hands plants itself solidly on Shiro’s thigh, greedy and sure.

Shiro turns his head and presses a kiss to the side of Keith’s head, soft as anything. Any other time and place, and this would feel absurd, but they’re newlyweds, they’re on their honeymoon, and they’re at the kind of restaurant where the food costs so much money that no one has the right to judge anyone for how they’re acting. And Shiro wants to act like a newlywed on his honeymoon, handsy and in love.

“Pick whatever you want,” Keith says, opening up a menu for them both. “I’m paying tonight.”

Shiro huffs out a soft breath of laughter. “Are you my sugar daddy tonight?”

Keith hums in disagreement. His arm slides around Shiro’s shoulders so his thumb can just manage to hook under the edge of the collar. Shiro’s heart stutters, and then Keith’s hushed voice is right in his ear, hot breath sending a shiver down Shiro’s spine. “I just wanna treat you to something nice, tonight,” he says, voice like liquid.

It sets Shiro on fire.

He shifts in his seat, not sure if he wants to get closer or farther away from Keith and the magnetic pull of his voice. Instead, he closes his eyes so he can compose himself.

“Be good for me,” Keith whispers, “so I can be good to you later.”

Shiro fights down the whine rising in his throat, if only because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he’s well on his way to hard in his dress slacks and it’s so difficult to not beg Keith to just take him home already.

A voice interrupts his fantasy of Keith slinging Shiro over his shoulder so they can get out of here, and the tension dissipates just like that. “Can I start you gentlemen off with drinks, or plates to share?”

Keith transitions so smoothly, it’s as if he planned the whole exchange. Shiro would say something, but he’s drugged by the cedar wood scent of Keith’s cologne. “Water for both of us, and we’ll have the calamari,” Keith says.

“You always know what I want,” Shiro says, a touch dreamy.

Laughing adorably, Keith settles in against Shiro’s side even more snugly. Shiro’s heart beats with so much love. “Pick out what you want,” he says, and holds the menu up higher so Shiro can easily scan it.

But Shiro hesitates. His eyes flick over to Keith, intent on reading their options and determining the perfect one. Shiro is usually happy to glance at a menu and pick the first thing that sounds good, but Keith prefers to read each item and weigh them carefully against each other, regardless of what restaurant they’re at. He still reads the menu at their favorite burger joint back home.

“Hey,” Shiro says to snag Keith’s attention. “You—you should pick for me.” Shiro’s face turns progressively redder as the words fall out of his mouth, but he can’t deny to himself that this is something he wants, another piece of control he wants to hand over to Keith for the night, saying,  _ I trust you _ .

A hand lands on his chin, the calloused side of a thumb pressing just below Shiro’s bottom lip. Keith doesn’t use the grip to tilt Shiro’s head or anything like that; he holds him there with just the force and love of his gaze, drinking Shiro in like he can’t quite believe what he just heard.

“How deep do you wanna go tonight?” Keith asks, voice delicate and rich. Shiro’s eyes flutter shut at the sound.

“Whatever you want to do to me,” Shiro whispers. He speaks just loud enough for his voice to be heard. “Anything you want. I’m yours.”

Keith’s hand on his chin turns hard, then, pulling Shiro’s head into position so Keith can kiss him with slow, dirty fervor, prying his mouth open with his tongue and stealing the very breath from Shiro’s lungs.

“I’ll take such good care of you, Shiro,” Keith says as he pulls away, mouth spit slick and blush red. His thumb swipes over the corner of Shiro’s mouth. 

How is it possible that Shiro got to marry this man? They walked down the aisle to each other  _ yesterday, _ but it already feels like Shiro has had this ring on his finger forever and Keith huddled up to him like this, in a crowded restaurant and anywhere else they might go, for an eternity. He’s never understood why Keith feels so timeless, already so attuned from that first meeting to him and a perfect fit into Shiro’s life, but he thinks this is what true love is supposed to be about. 

Everything is a blur until their food comes. Keith rubs his hand up and down Shiro’s thigh in a hypnotic rhythm, slow and teasing until Shiro can’t hear the words coming out of Keith’s mouth, can only stare at the shape of his lips as he speaks. Keith is so beautiful in the dim yellow light emanating from above their table, his eyes dark and endless, the hollows of his cheekbones illuminated with shadow when he turns his head just right. The faded scar arcing up the side of his cheek is cast darker than usual, lending him a ruggedness that makes Shiro’s fingertips tingle with the desire to touch. Shiro is drunk on Keith, his husband, his soulmate, the man who chose to spend the rest of his life right alongside Shiro. 

A fingertip touches Shiro’s cheek, startling him. “You’re not hearing a word I’m saying, are you?”

As Shiro shakes his head, the fingertip trails across the line of his jaw and up to trace the bow of his upper lip. Keith smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Kiss me,” he says.

That’s easy—Shiro leans in and pressing a lingering kiss against Keith’s lips, not over the top but firm, like he means it. 

“Good,” Keith says in approval. “Again.”

Keith’s touch turns to gripping Shiro’s chin, holding him in place longer as Shiro moves his lips in a hard kiss. He nips at Shiro’s bottom lip before they part.

Shiro stares into Keith’s eyes and waits for Keith to nod.

This time, when Shiro ducks his head for another kiss, his lips meet the hinge of Keith’s jaw, just above his neck, and Keith’s fingers curl around the back of his neck to keep him in place.

“So obedient.” Shiro drags his mouth down Keith’s neck, each kiss hotter and wetter than the last. He sucks gently at Keith’s pulse point, too careful to leave a bruise that would satisfy both of them, but enough to make Keith’s hand tighten on his neck as he inhales a too-hard breath. 

Shiro makes it all the way down to Keith’s shirt collar before fingers hook in the back of his leather collar and tug him back, Shiro’s eyes flutter at the sensation of soft pressure at his throat. His mouth feels a touch swollen now, but Keith looks pleased with him. 

“Love you like this,” Keith says. “I love you all the time, but this is . . . .” He trails off with a sigh and then kisses Shiro, reversing the game. Keith does that awful thing with his tongue that still, after years of kissing him like he means it, makes Shiro’s toes curl, and when Keith breaks away, Shiro whimpers in the back of his throat.

God, he just wants Keith so much, all the time, but especially now. It’s amazing that there was ever a point in Shiro’s life when he thought he could never have something like this, but now there’s Keith—beautiful, amazing Keith. Sometimes Shiro has to call him on his lunch break just to hear his voice, even if it’s just his voicemail, but it’s what he needs to get through the rest of his day until he can get home and hear Keith in person, see him, touch him. Shiro has never been so hungry for anything.

To go from a chance meeting on the street, to finding out that Keith was one of the contracted pilots hired to test drive the Garrison’s latest prototypes, to  _ this _ , their honeymoon. Three years have felt like nothing at all, like a fantastical story of two people who only met because the universe decreed it. Shiro’s own personal fairy tale, that he found a man who holds him and lets himself be held, who’s as fierce in bed as he is in life, and no less loving in public than behind closed doors. He’s never felt as strong as he did exchanging vows and rings with Keith, listening as Keith declared his love and commitment and getting to do the same in return. Keith complements him in every possible way.

“You’re more than everything I ever wanted,” Shiro says, helpless under the weight of Keith’s gaze. He’s turned on and desperate and  _ in love, _ he can’t say it enough—his stomach rumbles grumpily, but Shiro just wants to be out of this restaurant so he can worship Keith like he deserves. 

Keith’s grip tightens on his thigh and his neck. They stare at each other until the waiter brings the food to their table.

***

Keith plasters himself against Shiro’s back as Shiro struggles to get the hotel card into the lock of their door. “I can’t wait to fuck you,” he whispers into Shiro’s shoulder. “Gonna take you like you deserve.”

“It won’t—” Shiro says, and the card finally goes in the stupid slot and beeps at him.  _ Finally. _

Shiro just about wrenches the doorknob off in his haste, pushing the door open and stumbling inside, Keith at his back. The door is barely shut behind them when Keith crowds Shiro up against the wall of the door, chest to chest and sharing each other’s air. Keith looks hungry and Shiro drops the bag holding the cake they purchased for dessert.

“My Uber rating is going to go down after that show,” he says with a dry laugh.

“Worth it,” Shiro says, and he ducks down to crush his lips against Keith’s, but Keith tilts his head to the side and Shiro meets his cheek instead.

“I didn’t give you permission for that.” Keith hooks a finger underneath Shiro’s collar and pulls at it. “I thought you were gonna be good for me, Takashi. You’re not being very good.”

“Sorry,” Shiro says, breathless. “I’ll—”

“Hush.” Shiro’s mouth snaps shut, and he watches Keith watch him. He’s always caught in the pull of Keith’s gaze, constantly orbiting closer and closer but never quite crashing. 

Keith would never let him. 

Finally, Keith leans in, angling for the juncture of Shiro’s neck and shoulder, pressing one long, sucking kiss to it and nosing at the skin. “Gotta make sure everyone knows who you belong to,” he whispers, and then he nips Shiro, hard.

Shiro gasps, head tipping back in shock, and desire rushes through him. Ever determined, Keith sucks and bites at Shiro’s skin until it’s smarting with the beginnings of a giant bruise, unsubtle and hotter than Shiro can explain. He clutches Keith to him, hand wrapped tight in his hair as he tries to get his breath back. He can’t stop gasping though, can’t stop the harsh breaths that fall from his lips that make it impossible for him to regulate anything.

When Keith finally pulls back with a kiss just like the one that started this, Shiro is almost dizzy with pleasure. His skin stings, but there’s something far deeper and more satisfying going on inside him.

“Come lay down with me,” Keith says, nosing at the underside of Shiro’s chin.

Before he lets Shiro go, though, he tugs at the ends of Shiro’s tie, unravelling it and starting in on the buttons of Shiro’s shirt before the tie hits the ground. Keith bites his lip appreciatively at every new inch of skin revealed, fingers occasionally brushing against Shiro in a way that’s far too teasing and makes him shiver. 

Sprawled on the bed, half-naked with his pants hanging open and Keith standing over him, shedding his own clothing, Shiro feels more wanted and loved than he has any right to. Keith’s face is openly hungry, his smile pleased at how Shiro looks before him, and he makes Shiro’s heart race and face heat. They just got married, and now they’re here.

The rest of their clothes hit the floor. His nakedness is nothing before Keith, whose eyes drag over his body with a desire that Shiro prays will never be fully quenched. 

“I’ve got one more thing,” Keith says. He reaches under the pillows again—when did he find time to hide all this shit under the pillows, exactly?—and pulls out a bottle of lube that gets tossed to the side of the bed and a long leather cord. Just looking at it makes Shiro’s toes curl in approval. “You have to tell me yes or no.”

“Yes,” Shiro says. His voice is hoarse with need. “Keith— _ yes _ .”

Keith climbs into his lap, then, calm and collected as he traces a hand up the center of Shiro’s stomach and chest to the base of his throat, right below the D-ring on the collar. He loops a finger through it and tugs, a taunting preview, and leans down to kiss Shiro. Keith keeps it shallow and playful, a quick slide of lips and tongue when all Shiro wants is more, now.

“You were so good for me tonight,” Keith says. The leash clicks into place, rocking Shiro to the core as his hand flexes on Keith’s hip. “Love how this looks on you, love that anyone can see you’re mine.”

His mouth is searing as it kisses Shiro’s throat, just above the collar. He doesn’t need to drag Shiro in with the leash but he does it anyway, just so Shiro’s mouth parts on a moan as Keith’s lands on his, eager as if it were the first time. The pressure around his throat is hot and comforting in equal parts.

Their lips separate with a wet smack, and Keith chuckles as he stares into Shiro’s hungry face. “’S too bad we don’t have a headboard for me to tie you to,” Keith says. He pulls lightly on the leash.

Shiro is sad too, for a moment, but if he’s honest, he much prefers the idea of being able to touch Keith tonight. Keith is in charge, but Shiro still wants to take care of him, to show him how much he loves this man. If Keith fucks him, Shiro wants to clutch at sheets or Keith’s skin, to feel the visceral, tactile sensation; if Keith rides him, Shiro wants the opportunity to feel his body work.

Keith hums. His hand is wound tight in Shiro’s leash, knuckles brushing Shiro’s neck. “Turn over for me.” Keith’s voice is pure gravel and the shiver that jolts through Shiro is impossible to quell in the face of him. 

It’s difficult to do—Keith climbs off to give him space but keeps the hold on the leash. Every single movement Shiro makes reminds him of its hold, of Keith’s hold.

A proprietary hand lands between Shiro’s shoulder blades and slides down his spine. Keith taps his fingers on Shiro’s lower back, admiring, thinking. Shiro can’t wait to find out what.

“All mine,” Keith says. He’s strength and steel, made of unrestrained fire and a relentless dedication. He’s the only man in the universe Shiro wants to belong to, the only one who gets to see him silent, submissive, and soft. “God, Shiro the things I want to do to you . . . .” He trails off with wistfulness in his voice. Shiro knows the feeling, knows it intimately, even, but there isn’t enough time in the world for all the ways Shiro wants to have Keith and be had in return. Even their honeymoon, all two weeks of nothing but each other, can’t begin to make a dent in everything Shiro wants to do with Keith. It’s an impossibility he’s happy to attempt to break.

Keith’s hands rub down over Shiro’s ass, heels digging into the muscle as he admires Shiro. The leash tugs gently at the collar as Keith’s hold moves farther away and back again, and it isn’t long before Shiro is rocking back into the touch as he starts to pant, open-mouthed. Keith doesn’t say anything except to hush Shiro when he pleads for more, silencing him with just a word.

There’s no warning before Keith’s tongue licks over his hole, flat and broad and so shocking that Shiro moans.

Keith laughs, a thumb following the path of spit he left behind. The tip teases just inside Shiro, tantalizing,

“Stay here,” Keith says, squeezing Shiro’s ass once.

He steps away to the closet where they stashed their suitcases, out of Shiro’s line of sight. The sound of a zipper being undone signals to Shiro that Keith might have something more exciting planned for tonight than expected, and the thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. He stretches his arm above his head to settle further into the bed, propped up only on his chest and spread apart knees, entirely Keith’s for the taking.

Something lands on the bed between Shiro’s knees as Keith steps to the side of the bed where Shiro’s head is turned to. He sheds the rest of his dress clothes while Shiro watches, throwing them on the decorative chair behind him. His cock is full and heavy between his legs and Shiro can’t stop staring at it; he licks his lips unconsciously. He whines when Keith’s hand wanders down to touch himself while drinking in the sight of Shiro splayed apart for him, waiting, waiting for anything Keith wants to give him, and Shiro wants to give him a show. He presses his chest deeper into the mattress, forcing his spine into a deep curve and moaning quietly all the while. He spreads his legs apart farther and the head of his cock brushes against the bed—Shiro can’t resist the urge to drive his hips down, searching out friction, and that’s what finally gets Keith to react.

“Hey,” Keith snaps, snatching up the leash and snapping the end of it lightly against Shiro’’s ass to get him to stop. “None of that. You don’t get to come until I decide.”

A shaky sigh, and Shiro nods. It’s too easy to lose himself when he knows Keith will be right there to take care of him, too easy to give into the desires of his body and run wild with them. But that’s not the game tonight, it’s not what Keith wants from him.

Shiro would give him anything in the world. He just has to ask.

Keith nudges Shiro’s legs a few inches closer to each other, stabilizing him while pushing his ass higher, ready for the taking. Keith works him open with long, slow movements of his tongue, too hard to be called teasing but still filled with a refusal to do something that would actually satisfy Shiro.

“Keith . . . .” he moans, hand clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Keith, I need—“

“Shh, I know what you need.” Keith’s voice is anything but harsh, and he kisses Shiro’s hole, obscene and so sweet. 

He makes Shiro wait for his fingers, gets him sloppy and relaxed before he pushes one wet, slim finger inside, filling him finally but not enough. Shiro can’t help but rock back into it, to moan out his need for me, but all it gets him is a sharp tug at the leash to hush. 

“Be good,” Keith says, “be good for me, Takashi, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

Shiro sighs, relaxes again. Patience. He believes Keith, knows that he’ll eventually get what he wants.

It’s hard not to want it  _ now. _

Keith presses praise into Shiro’s skin through kisses to every part of him he can reach. A hand between Shiro’s legs strokes his cock lightly, rewarding, forcing his mind off the second and third fingers Keith adds in too quick succession. Shiro hisses at the stretch, the pleasure, and Keith licks around his fingers to soothe.

By the time Keith presses the toy inside him, Shiro is struggling to keep his eyes fully open. He hardly responds to the sensation of being filled until Keith settles the base firmly against his hole and taps twice on it for a reaction. “Good?” Keith asks.

Words are impossible. Shiro shifts his weight minutely, and it presses into his prostate, horribly overwhelming and so distracting.

“Words, Takashi,” Keith murmurs. He rubs a hand over Shiro’s ass and down his thigh, grounding.

It takes Shiro another moment.

“Good,” he gasps. Keith puts his palm on the base of it and pushes down; the minute movement it makes inside Shiro makes him shiver.

“Ready for more?” Keith asks.

More? Shiro doesn’t know what more there is, but he whispers his assent and shifts his weight on his knees from side to side. The sensation inside is delicious; it makes Shiro wonder why they don’t do this more often.

Keith walks closer on his knees to kiss Shiro’s shoulder, trailing his mouth up to the nape of Shiro’s neck so he can bite a bruise into the skin there.

His nose traces the shell of Shiro’s ear. “I want to hear you. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” Anything Keith wants, Shiro will do.

The most devastating words come when Keith laughs, light and quiet, and whispers, “My husband.”

Shiro nearly chokes on his tongue as the toy comes to life, vibrating right up against the most sensitive spot inside him.

Keith stretches out next to Shiro, laying on his left side, propped up on one elbow, while his other hand shows Shiro the tiny black remote. His mischievous grin plays across his face in the low light of the room, far too smug for Shiro’s tastes as he struggles to make sense of the sensation inside of him. 

“How is it?” Keith asks. His voice is so deep and dark.

Shiro moans as a response, and he fumbles his hand across the bed until he can press his fingers against Keith’s bare chest, a grounding touch. Keith ducks his head down, presses a kiss to Shiro’s wrist, and clicks the remote.

Shiro collapses to the bed, hips rolling like he doesn’t know where to go underneath the onslaught. Keith reaches over and strokes a hand through Shiro’s hair, lifting his bangs away from his forehead so he can look right into Shiro’s eyes. He rests his hand over Shiro’s collar and hooks a leg over the back of Shiro’s thigh. Skin to skin almost takes the edge off, but Keith switches the vibrator to a pattern that pulses and makes him ache somewhere deep inside him.

“All mine,” Keith says. “All for me, aren’t you?”

“Keith,” Shiro answers. It tears out of him like a sob.

“That’s my good boy,” Keith says, and he leans in for a kiss. 

Shiro is too sloppy by far, distracted, but Keith keeps it shallow, mostly just the two of them sharing air while Shiro struggles not to grind his hips down into the bed to come all over the sheets. 

Keith’s touch disappears from everything but the leash hanging from Shiro’s neck, tugging gently as Keith moves to sit up against the head of the bed, legs spread on either side of Shiro.

“C’mere,” Keith says, nudging Shiro’s head up. With limbs like barely solidified jello, Shiro struggles to get his arm underneath himself so he can lift his shoulders enough to look Keith in the eye. “My turn, baby. Make me feel good.”

Keith strokes his own cock just inches from Shiro’s face, and despite everything happening, that sight alone is enough to nearly tip Shiro over the edge. Suddenly, his mouth is desperately empty, and he lunges forward to kiss clumsily over the head of Keith’s cock, hand gripping tight at Keith’s hip.

It’s so difficult to concentrate while Keith is playing with the settings on the vibrator, flipping it up, down, to different patterns, always teasing. Shiro could never come from it, but it’s utterly maddening—he’s caught between wanting more and wanting less because it’s so overwhelming, and all the time his mouth is sliding sloppily down Keith’s cock, egged on by the hand in his hair and Keith’s muttered praise above him.

“Feel good?” Keith asks. He doesn’t sound the least bit wrecked, as calm and in control as Shiro used to be before Keith held up a leash and asked Shiro to be his. “I just want you to feel good, Takashi.“

Shiro drags his mouth off Keith’s cock with a ragged gasp. “So good,” he says, half a whimper falling from his lips. “Keith, I—god,  _ fuck.” _

He grunts with pleasure, teeth finding the vulnerable skin of Keith’s inner thighs and latching on to keep himself from shouting.

“I thought you would like this,” Keith says, sounding remarkably self-satisfied for a man who’s getting bitten by his husband rather than blown. “Can you believe we’ve never tried this? Just knew you’d go crazy, knew you’d be so desperate for me, baby.”

Keith fiddles with the remote, setting the vibrator on a setting that ratchets up in sensation before dropping suddenly to nothing, over and over again. It drives Shiro insane—he wants more, doesn’t want it to keep stopping when he swears just another ten seconds would push him over the edge, 

“Come here.”

The leash tugs at Shiro’s throat. Keith pulls Shiro back onto his cock but doesn’t let him slide down past the head, keeps him there to lick around the crown and suck away the taste of it while Keith touches himself to the sight. It’s visceral and near-rough when Keith’s hand bumps Shiro’s lips, but Keith is nothing if not careful. Their eyes meet, and the burnt black fire Shiro sees in Keith’s gaze undoes the last of his restraint; he moans around Keith’s cock and fights against the hold in his hair to swallow Keith all the way down.

Keith groans, shocked, and before Shiro knows it, Keith’s cock slides out of his mouth completely and their position is reversed in a whirl of movement. Keith sits on his chest, trying to catch his breath. One hand fists the leash tight, planted on the bed next to Shiro’s head so he can’t move, can’t do anything but watch as Keith jerks himself right over Shiro’s face.

The view is filthy, the endless taunting of the vibrator mouthwatering, and before Shiro can fully assess the situation, Keith comes on him, hot and sudden, and Shiro’s mouth drops open with the rush of it. 

It seems to go one forever. Keith bites his lip and throws his head back in pleasure. He cries out Shiro’s first name, comes hot all over Shiro’s cheeks and jaw and lips, and when Keith finally looks back down, there’s shock written in his expression. Shock, and hunger too, and after his hand slides one last time over his cock, Keith takes Shiro’s chin in hand and slides a thumb over Shiro’s bottom lip, pushing come inside his mouth and onto his tongue. Shiro moans, sucks, and bucks his hips when he shifts and the vibrator reminds him almost painfully that it knows exactly the best and worst spot to sit inside him.

Keith breathes, “Takashi,” like the word has all the meaning in the world. 

“Please, Keith,” Shiro answers. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but he needs it so badly, needs more than something inside him and Keith staring him in the eyes.

“Do you wanna come?” Keith asks, voice soothing. “You can, baby, whenever you need to. I don’t—“

“I can’t,” Shiro says, practically a sob. His hips twist up again, searching for friction to make all the pleasure coalesce into the climax he knows is waiting, but the vibration isn’t  _ enough.  _ Shiro isn’t Keith, doesn’t have the near freaky ability to come just from Shiro grinding hard inside him, and understanding dawns on Keith’s face in a heartbeat.

The vibrator switches to a continuous, furious burst inside him at the same time Keith’s fingers wrap around Shiro’s cock. He leans back, abs taut and on display for Shiro to admire, but he doesn’t have time for more than five seconds of it before his orgasm hits him, hard. Shiro screams, wails, and his hips buck up so uncontrollably that he nearly unseats Keith as he comes. It’s a tidal wave he didn’t notice starting, a disaster that ravages his higher brain function and reduces him to a crying, writhing thing that only knows Keith’s name on his tongue.

It ends, everything. Keith doesn’t cut the vibrator but he turns it down, and Shiro is grateful—the buzz now is far gentler than he remembers it being at the beginning, but he thinks that a total end of sensation would feel awful instead of comforting. 

“Fuck,” Keith hisses, and he crushes his lips against Shiro’s. Shiro kisses back clumsily, eyes drooping shut. Keith’s hand, covered in Shiro’s come, plasters itself to Shiro’s jaw and mixes with the mess already there.

“Love you,” he mumbles against Keith’s mouth. His eyes close for good while he catches his breath.

“Love you so  _ much,” _ Keith answers, breathy and quick. He leans their foreheads together and his voice goes soft with secrecy. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Shiro’s chest rumbles with a hum. “’Til death do us part,” he says into the scant space between their lips. “In sickness and in health.”

Keith twines his fingers with Shiro’s left hand and presses a kiss to his forehead. It feels like a confession.

Shiro dozes while Keith flits about him, slipping the toy from between Shiro’s legs and wiping him down with a soft hotel washcloth that Shiro will feel bad about desecrating tomorrow. Keith teases him for passing out right after getting off, but Shiro is still awake enough to snap back about the number of times Keith’s been the mess of shaky limbs and exhaustion himself. Keith’s laugh is melodious.

“Wanna have cake?” Keith asks. The leftovers bag lands on the bed as Keith walks on his knees up to the top of the bed, settling down beside Shiro. He unwraps the tiny four layer cake, decorated with chocolate ganache and sparkling gold dust. Shiro had peeked into the bag when their waiter brought it out to them; it looked as divine as the rest of their dinner.

“We don’t have forks,” Shiro mumbles, his eyes still glued shut against his will. Dessert is the only thing that can tempt him away from sleep. He flutters them open, and Keith doesn’t even look mildly perplexed by the situation.

“We can improvise.”

Keith’s fingers dig into the edge of the cake, breaking through the perfectly smooth top to tear a bite off and raise it to Shiro’s lips. Shiro smiles as he opens his lips, the flavor of chocolate exploding across his tongue. He licks at Keith’s fingers, watches his gaze darken. Damn Keith and his inhuman stamina.

The next piece goes to Keith, and he moans softly as he tastes it. “God, that’s good.”

They trade bites back and forth until the cake is half gone and Shiro’s stomach can’t take another bite of sugar. There are tiny crumbs in the bed sheets that Shiro will feel compelled to shake out before they go to bed, but judging from the fact that Keith’s fingers won’t stop exploring his mouth, Shiro figures sleep is a long way off.

He sighs into the sensation of Keith pushing leisurely into Shiro’s mouth, the pads of his fingers exploring like he has a right to Shiro’s body. He does, Shiro supposes, hazy, because Shiro wants him to. The casual intent, the growing hunger, the slightest hint of dehumanization as Keith treats him like a thing to be desired, to be used—it makes Shiro squirm. Almost too soon, his cock begins to harden again.

It doesn’t take Keith long to notice, his lips curling into a wicked grin. 

"That was fast," he says. His hand, sticky with chocolate, trails down the center of Shiro's chest so his fingers can tangle loosely in the leash still hanging from Shiro's neck.

"Not my fault." Shiro hides his face in his pillow so he doesn't have to look at how good Keith looks when he's got a handle on Shiro's leash.

"Look at me."

Shiro turns his head with great reluctance. Keith has a tiny smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth; it softens him, in Shiro's mind, but his eyes burn incongruously with a sharp desire.

"C'mere," Keith says, tugging lightly at the leash. "Let me take care of you."

So Shiro goes where Keith tells him—it's impossible to say no to him. Shiro doesn't  _ want _ to say no to him.

Keith sets the cake on the far side of the bed and pushes Shiro down on his belly, hips propped up by a pillow and legs spread no farther than is comfortable. Keith starts at his feet, digging his thumbs into the soles and making his way up Shiro's calves. Muscles Shiro didn't even realize were tense melt underneath Keith's touch, and he groans involuntarily.

"Shh," Keith hushes when Shiro tries to shift his legs apart farther. "Just stay comfortable."

Inch by inch, Keith works his way up Shiro's body. He’s never confirmed to Shiro that he took a few massage classes toward the beginning of their relationship, but it’s hard to believe he got this good on his own. 

Keith reaches his ass and digs in his thumbs for more time than before, massaging muscles that don’t really need the help, but Shiro sighs into it all the same. One finger slides over his already fucked open hole, then two, and Shiro whines for Keith to press inside, to make him sore with need and overstimulation, but Keith only taunts. He kisses just to the left of his fingers, mocking how he worked Shiro open earlier.

Shiro begs, but Keith delays. He knows this is the game, but he’s already taken so much tonight. Imagining Keith draped over him, moving so slowly inside, hand gripping Shiro’s tight while he whispers how much he loves Shiro—that’s all Shiro can think about. It’s that particular intoxication of too much touch combined with the need to never be apart from the man he loves.

It feels like forever passes before Keith does exactly as Shiro imagined. The weight of him is heavy and real over Shiro, and his cock slides inside Shiro with the finesse of practice. Shiro sighs, feels the gut punch of being filled even when he’s already stretched wide open and aching with it.

“Love you,” Keith breathes.

Shiro turns his face to the side and Keith meets him halfway, their lips closing in an awkward half kiss that tastes like chocolate and warmth. “I love you,” Shiro whispers at the end of it.

Keith moves his hips in a slow grind, laces their fingers together, and runs his nose along the back of Shiro’s neck just underneath the collar. The leash is trapped somewhere underneath Shiro’s body, but they don’t need it. Keith gives Shiro everything he wants, everything they both want, nothing else required. There’s simplicity in ownership and worship, and this is the best of both.

It’s the slowest, softest, quietest sex Shiro has ever had. He wants to bottle this feeling for hard days, for when he wants Keith with him but can’t have him right away, for when the world gets too dark and hard. It’s a drug and a blessing, a saccharine warmth and dedication. 

When Shiro’s body reaches the point of desperation, he rocks his hips down into the bed to find enough friction to tip him over the edge. His orgasm is anything but explosive—it’s thunder rolling in over the hills, a grumble that starts in his cock and sends a tingling sensation all the way to his toes as he moans Keith’s name and squeezes the hand held in his. He buries his face in the pillow before a soft whine can slip out, and he feels Keith’s hips stutter once, twice, driving in deep as Keith comes on a ragged sigh. His mouth bites at Shiro’s collar to steady himself through it.

There’s no real point in getting up after that. 

Keith flops to the side after a moment, legs and arms still tangled around Shiro’s body, mouth still mashed into Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro is grateful for the warmth.

“You really brought out all the stops for this,” Shiro teases once he’s got his breath back.

Keith snorts, fond. “Had to. It’s our wedding night.”

“Our wedding night was last night.”

“Technicality.” Keith presses a dry kiss to the skin immediately under his mouth. “We’re married now, so they’re all wedding nights.”

It’s kind of a stupid sentence, but Shiro is stupid too from sex and getting up at four a.m. the day after his wedding to hop on a seven hour flight to somewhere tropical. The reminder still makes his heart stutter in his chest—it hasn’t quite set in, yet, that they’re really married. That really is a titanium ring on his left hand, and Keith wears its identical twin on his own finger, bright and shiny even in the dull hotel room lighting. The only visible differences between them are the engravings on the inside, little secrets Shiro intends to keep to himself, Keith, and the jeweler who made them.

“Come on,” Keith says, dragging himself up and away from Shiro. He reaches out to the side of Shiro’s throat to unclip the leash and throw it on the end table next to Shiro’s prosthetic. “Let’s take a bath.”

Shiro turns his face into the pillow, mourning the loss of touch. “Don’t wanna get up,” he mumbles.

“We didn’t go through the trouble of getting all your bath stuff through security just to not use it,” Keith says, smart as ever. “Up, up, you’ll feel better.” His fingers trail over the buckle of Shiro’s collar, questioning, and Shiro shakes his head. The leather won’t be destroyed by a little water while he comes down.

Keith brings the remaining cake into the bathroom and sets the giant bath to run over most of a bag of lavender epsom salts and added essential oils, then bundles them both into the shower to rinse their bodies of sweat and other fluids that are a lot grosser now than they were before.

“Sorry,” Keith says, laughing as he wipes come from underneath Shiro’s chin. He doesn’t sound that sorry.

“Don’t be.” Shiro runs a reverent hand down Keith’s spine, admiring the smoothness of his skin and squeezing his ass playfully. He whispers into Keith’s ear, “I liked it.”

Keith hums. His hand falls from Shiro’s chin to his lower stomach, scratching fingers through the hair just above Shiro’s cock. It’s not fair—he knows what that does to Shiro. “Yeah,” Keith murmurs, half a sigh Shiro can’t hear over the shower. “I noticed.”

They nearly slip and fall in the three feet from the shower to the bathtub because Shiro won’t take his mouth off Keith’s. He’s never felt higher after such intense sex—Shiro swears he’s floating above everything when the backs of his knees bump the lip of the tub and Keith hooks two fingers into the collar to pull Shiro more firmly into the kiss. 

Keith urges Shiro into the tub so he can follow, settling into Shiro’s lap with easy familiarity and a smug grin. This tub is even bigger than their one at home, and Shiro mentally tries to figure out a way he can steal it when they leave.

“You want cake?”

Shiro’s stomach rumbles as if on command, and he grins sheepishly at Keith. “Still no forks, huh?”

Keith shoves a piece of cake against his lips in response, smearing chocolate everywhere until Shiro gives in and opens his mouth to accept it.

They trade bites of cake back and forth until the cake is nothing more than a smear of chocolate on its container. Licking his fingers, Keith turns around in the bath to settle back against Shiro’s chest, a rumbling sigh betraying his contentment as he finds Shiro’s hand and entwines their fingers together for the umpteenth time that night alone. Keith is never physically unaffectionate, but the hot glow of pride in Shiro’s chest takes note that he’s been extra attentive since the wedding. 

The feeling is very mutual.

Shiro sighs, contented, and drops his head forward so he can rest against the base of Keith’s skull and inhale the warm scent of his skin. Intoxicating.

He’s halfway to sleep when Keith interrupts the silence.

“You liked it?” Keith shifts his weight. “At the restaurant, and the leash, and everything?”

“Already debrief time?” Shiro asks in response. He kisses the knob of Keith’s spine. “Yeah. Yeah, I really did. Did you?”

Keith sighs loudly. “Made me wish I could parade you around in public all the time,” he admits.

Tugging Keith’s hand with his under the water, Shiro wraps his arm around Keith’s waist to hold him close. “No reason we can’t do it again tomorrow,” he says mildly. “Maybe switch it around a little.”

Keith turns his head in so his nose brushes Shiro’s neck. “That what you want?” he asks. “Want to show me off around town?”

“Baby, I want to do so much more than show you off.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

If Shiro keeps this up, he thinks, he’s going to accidentally start something he can’t actually finish, not when he’s already come twice in the last hour, so he settles for a careful squeeze of Keith’s waist with his forearm. He tells himself that come tomorrow, they can make whatever plans they want.

Keith grows bored of  the bath relatively quickly, asking Shiro if he needs Keith to stay. Shiro takes stock—he didn’t go very far under, and the thought of Keith leaving him to float in the bathtub doesn’t make his breath quicken, so he urges Keith to go. He always gets overheated so quickly.

With Keith gone, Shiro sinks deeper into the tub until everything under his chin, collar and all, is submerged. He touches the collar, absently, and suppresses the flare of heat that results as he remembers Keith’s fingers hooked in it while at the restaurant. There’s no use getting hard again, but curiosity makes his fingers wander down and his legs spread.

His hole is on the achy side of sore, fucked open enough to make slipping one finger inside easy. Shiro gasps, feels his cock twitch despite himself, and starts to seriously wonder if the sense memory of Keith’s heavy weight on his back and thick cock spearing him open is enough to get him hard again so soon.

In fact, it is.

Shiro trails his fingers up the underside of his cock, seriously contemplating the merits of getting off again before joining Keith in sleep. His head drops back, his grip tightens, and it’s no trouble at all to imagine Keith is still in the bath with him, sliding his hands all over Shiro and whispering dirty promises right into his ear, the filth betrayed by his gentle touch. The slick slide of wet skin, the rush of blood in his ears—

The door swings open to reveal Keith wrapped in a fluffy hotel bathrobe, another dangling from his finger. Keith’s eyes burn.

It’s only the force of his desire that keeps Shiro from feeling embarrassed—he strokes a tight hand up his cock and moans for show, watching Keith’s fingers tighten on the door frame. Shiro closes his eyes and keeps going.

“Fuck,” Keith whispers, the sound closer. Shiro cracks an eye open enough to see him standing, naked again, at the end of the tub, staring at Shiro’s hand under the water.

Shiro’s voice is as shaky as his breathing. “Can’t stop thinking about you, baby,” he says. “You just—god, you feel so good.”

Keith plunges a hand into the water and pulls out the plug. 

“Come back to bed,” he says, gaze sparking like the strike of flint.

He holds out a hand for Shiro to grab to pull himself up, stepping out of the tub onto the white bath mat. Shiro’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, and Keith’s eyes are unmistakably fixed on it.

Shiro says, “I don’t think I can—“

But Keith cuts him off with a hard kiss to his mouth while he takes Shiro’s cock  in hand, stroking him lightly, teasingly. “I’m not done with you yet,” Keith breathes against him. “It’s my turn,”

“Your turn, huh?”

Keith strokes happily over Shiro’s collar, looking equal parts mischievous and thirsty. “I’m in charge tonight, remember? And I want you to fuck me.”

Shiro’s breath leaves him in a huff.

“Yeah,” he says, already following Keith back into the bedroom, the completely wrecked bed awaiting them. “Yeah, I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/disloyalpunk) & [tumblr](https://disloyalpunk.tumblr.com) for more horny married sheith <3


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